Knockin' On Heaven's Door
by angeltablet
Summary: Dean wakes up one day to find he is no longer on earth. Confused and worried, he searches for answers, only to find the angel Castiel who begins to teach him how to live his new life as a soldier of heaven.
1. Chapter 1

Dean opened his eyes to a bright light. His face screwed up as he was blinded by it. He tried to look around but all he saw was white. His vision wasn't focusing. His head hurt. Dean managed to prop himself up on one arm, though he was still struggling to see clearly. The smell was that of a hospital: sterile, dull, burning. There wasn't a single noise apart from his ragged breathing. What had happened? Dean was starting to make out shapes in the white. A door, a chest of draws.. no, that was a desk, and-

Dean shot up, sitting on whatever it was bolt upright. He wasn't alone. He had company. A woman, mid-thirties, brown-haired, was smiling at him with that fake nurse's smile he had seen so often. "Hello Dean." He gave her a look of confusion, slowly standing up from what he could now tell was one of those creepy chairs dentists had. He took a cautious step towards the woman standing opposite him. "Who are you?" his voice was hoarse, his throat dry. "My name is of no relevance, I am merely here to explain-" Dean held up a hand to silence her. "What are you?" she smiled sweetly "I am an angel." He raised both his eyebrows. That usually wasn't a good thing, he'd only ever met one decent angel, Balthazar, and he'd almost got them killed on multiple occasions. "So… where am I?" The woman just smiled sweetly. "You know your cheesy smile won't do you any favours when I try to kill you." Dean said sarcastically. Her expression immediately hardened, there was a more serious tone to her voice as she said: "I thought you'd have figured that out by now, it's your job after all." He let out a huff of disbelief "Yeah well I usually have something to go on, y'know, some sort of lead." – "Well I gave you a lead, I am an angel." Dean rolled his eyes "Yeah thanks, princess, I heard you the first time and guess what: I ain't Jesus, I got no Moses in my pocket telling me what's what! So you get talkin' or I'll get slicin'!" She smiled sweetly "And with what do you want to slice?" – "Balthazar was kind enough to leave me his angel blade when he kicked the bucket." He received a sarcastic look from the woman "you really think we didn't confiscate that? No, you're not getting an angel blade until you have adjusted." Dean frowned "adjusted? Adjusted to what?"

"Your new life of course!" Dean's eyes darted around in confusion, he wanted to speak, but he couldn't find the words so his mouth just made goldfish movements. "You are confused." – "Yeah, well done Sherlock! What do you mean 'new life'? I'm a hunter! I got Sam! I have to look after him, I ain't leaving!" He bagged a sympathetic smile "Oh Dean, you really don't remember, do you?" – "Remember? Remember what?" The angel moved towards him, lifting two fingers to his head "oh no no no, don't you mojo me I-" A feeling of dizziness overcame Dean as he looked around at the trees and the shrubbery. Light was seeping through the rustling leaves, forming patches on the ground. A light breeze blew through the wood, stirring up some fallen branches and shaking the bushes gently, but Dean felt no cold shiver down his spine, he didn't even feel the wind on his face. He began walking, not sure of where he was going or why he was there. He didn't understand anything. He couldn't even remember most of it.

Suddenly something rushed past his left shoulder. Dean spun round sharply, nearly losing his balance, trying to catch a glimpse at the creature, but it had disappeared. With a frown, he turned his entire body and hurried after it. It was foolish really, seeing as he didn't have a clue of where he was going or what he was doing. Nor did he know what it was he was following. It was fast, that was for sure. Wendigo? The conditions were right after all. Cautiously, he continued pursuing the creature, sticking to the shadows, hiding behind trees.

"Dean!" he looked around at the sound of his little brother's voice. "Dean! Where are you?" Sammy was standing maybe 10 feet away, looking towards the large pine tree on Dean's right. "I'm here Sam!" He called back, but his brother ignored him, looking around searchingly. "Dean!"

"Sammy!" He tried shouting once more as the taller man turned and walked off. Dean frowned. He hadn't seen or heard him. Why hadn't he seen or heard him? He made a move to follow Sam, when he heard a loud roar behind him. He hardly dared to look over his shoulder, but forced himself to turn around. A huge, black beast with fierce fangs was towering over him. Dean stared at it, unable to move. It looked like a massive hell hound… but how could he see it? How did he know what hell hound looked like? The only beings that could see them were the dead and the damned. so either he was damned, or…

Dean awoke with a start. He shot up off the rather uncomfortable floor, sweating and panting. He looked around, his eyes focusing. He squinted along the hall, trying to make out where he was. It was slowly coming back to him: the angel, the weirdo trip he'd been sent on. But now, he was alone. Nobody was even nearby. He pushed himself off the floor and stood up. Why was he here? Where was 'here'? Dean started walking towards the door nearest to him, deciding that if he wanted to find out, he'd have to do that himself. Cautiously, he opened it. Dean had experienced enough to know that generally, bad things hid behind doors in unknown places. He'd expected all sorts: demons, vampires, angry spirits… but never in a million years had he expected what really was behind that door: nothing. Not even a room, just… nothing. No colour, no temperature, nothing. Dean couldn't even process it properly. And, being the foolish and curious person he was, he did what no sensible person would do and stepped right into it. The smell of salt filled his nostrils, a cold wind hit him hard and the sound of waves was all that could be heard, save for the odd seagull calling. He was on a beach. A stone beach next to a grey sea. Waves were rippling onto the beach, leaving seashells when they pulled back. Dean looked around, confused. He saw a young woman and a man about the same age splashing in the water in the distance. The wind carried their laughter to him, they looked happy. The man picked her up and threw her into the waved. She reemerged with a gasp, soaked and laughing. Dean didn't understand, he didn't know how he'd ended up there. He walked backwards, his eyes never leaving the couple. He grappled for the doorknob, but it wasn't there. He looked around. The door had disappeared. This was getting freakier by the minute.

Dean looked around in search of a way out. Where had the door gone? He stepped towards where it had been and…

The intense light almost blinded him as he stepped back into the hall. What the-? Dean turned on his heel and saw the door. It hadn't moved, it was still in the same place it had been. This wasn't helping, he was just more confused. None the less, he decided he'd try another one. Dean walked towards one on the right, nearer the end of the corridor. He firmly gripped the door handle. What the hell was he doing? He should be looking for a way out. Dean shrugged and took a deep breath before opening it. Again, he was greeted by nothing, but upon stepping into the nothingness, he felt the sharp smell of alcohol burning his nose. He was used to it, normally, he barely noticed it. But now, it made his eyes water. He had to hold a hand in front of his nose. Dean looked around at the wooden paneling of the bar. It looked homely, it looked… he was in the Roadhouse. What was going on? Ash was sitting at the bar with a laptop balanced on his knee. "Ash?" he looked up and frowned. "Dean? Dean, what are you doing here?" he shrugged "I don't know, Ash, I don't know what's going on, what the hell is going on?" Ash shook his head "you can't be here! Dean, are you dead?"

"No, no I'm not, I don't know why I'm here. Where am I?"

Ash's expression changed, though Dean couldn't quite say what to. "You need to leave." He got up and dragged Dean towards a door next to the bar, probably the one he'd come through. "Don't come back here, boy, ever." The door was flung open and the next thing he knew, Dean was back in the corridor. What was that all about?

He knew he shouldn't try another door. It would just be stupid, unwise. But he needed to know where he was. No. no, he'd find out another way. Dean proceeded to walk towards the end of he corridor, trying not to get distracted by any of the doors. There were black ones, white ones, wooden ones, steel ones… he'd almost managed it, it was like they were calling his name, daring him to open them and take a peek. The end of the corridor was getting closer and closer. Only three more doors to go, two, one…

But Dean turned around. The door on the right was dark wood, almost black. The silver panel next to it read "eternal Tuesday". He didn't feel in control of his body as he reached out his right hand, pushing down the door handle, stepping into the nothingness…

A garden, a park. The trees were an orangey-red, the grass was green. A red rosebush was standing in the middle of the lawn. Dean saw a man in a blue sweater flying a kite a couple of feet away. It's rectangular shape gracefully glided through the grey sky, it was neither particularly warm, nor particularly cold. It was perfect. But they weren't the only ones. Standing near the bush enclosing the lawn was a dark haired man in a beige trench coat. He was tall, but not as tall as Dean. He couldn't make out his exact features, but Dean could tell he was watching the bees flying around the roses. He seemed… content. At peace.

The man turned around and looked right at Dean, there was something about him that made him… different. Dean couldn't tell what it was. He started walking towards him, his stunningly blue eyes were looking right into Dean's own green ones. His expression was soft. A light stubble covered his cheeks. And even Dean could tell he was attractive. "Hello Dean" a deep, gruff voice that didn't seem to fit the man greeted him. He frowned "hello" he said hesitantly. How did this stranger know his name? "I am Castiel, it is an honor to finally meet you. I have heard much about you, Dean Winchester."

"How do you know my name?" now it was Castiel's turn to frown "your name is a legend, Dean. We all know who you are." Dean took a step back "We, you mean… you're an angel too?" Castiel's face showed no emotion "yes." Dean responded with a sigh. "Great." The angel looked to the floor "I am sorry if I have… upset you in any way. Forgive me." The other man shook his head "my experienced with angels hasn't been to great so far." The look he received was one of regret "I apologize for the actions of my siblings. They can be very… " he paused to search for the word, it seemed he often did that when searching for emotions, like he struggled to understand them "tactless."

"And I guess you're different?" there was a bitter taste in Dean's words, he didn't know if Castiel would get that. He didn't respond, he just looked at him apologetically. "I should be getting back. Can I take you anywhere?" Dean shook his head. The angel didn't even say goodbye, he just disappeared with a flutter of his wings. God, all Dean wanted was a bed and a good night's sleep. He was sick of this crap and he was sick of angels. He walked back towards where the door had been and stepped into the corridor. This time, he was gonna get to the end of it.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean wasn't quite sure how he'd got there, but the next thing he knew, he was wrapped up in big, puffy blankets on the comfiest bed he'd ever been on, head resting on an equally puffy cushion. It was like sleeping on clouds. He let out a happy sigh and let his eyes fall shut as he pulled the duvet around himself tightly. For a short moment, all his worries left him. He didn't think about why he was here, how he'd got here, where Sam was, how he'd get back to him or even if he was still alive. He didn't worry about the world ending, he didn't worry about Crowley or Abandon, he didn't worry about monsters or demons. For that short moment, nothing mattered. And for some strange reason, Dean found that feeling of utter emptiness blissful. For once, he wasn't responsible for anybody. And it felt good.

He didn't know how long he'd been lying awake, tossing and turning, not thinking about anything but not sleeping either. He lay on his stomach, his side, his back, flipped his pillow, took the blanket off, pulled it back onto him, lights on, lights off, until finally, he realized that he wouldn't sleep. Not tonight, anyway. Dean forced himself to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the massive bed. He stood up, wondering when he'd taken his clothes off. The strange thing was, the second after that thought had crossed his mind, he was wearing his old, tatty jeans, two polo shirts and his battered leather jacket. Dean frowned, but thought nothing more of it, mainly because he didn't really care.

He spotted the door at the other side of the room, opposite the bed, and walked towards it, reaching out a hand to push it open.

The lights in the corridor were still on, but dimmed. It gave the whole thing an edge, an eerie atmosphere. The only thing to be heard was the sound of Dean's breathing. There was nothing, not even the trickling of water in the pipes or the hum of the lamps. Utter silence to the point where he could hear his own blood pumping through his body. He was very aware of every beat of his heart. It wasn't a comfortable silence at all. He turned back with the intention of returning to that incredibly comfy bed… but the door had gone. Vanished. Instead, the corridor stretched out behind him. Great. Dean started walking, slowly, cautiously, his hand supporting him against the wall. The doors in this part were all a dark, plastic green, nothing special about any of them, they didn't have any plates like the ones in the other corridor had, they just had silver numbers engraved directly into the door. Dean continued walking, his pace speeding up a little. He could see the end of the corridor, it was far away, but getting closer. He broke into a light jog, then a run until he was sprinting towards a big, oak double door. He skidded to a halt in front of it. It had heavy iron bolts and hinges, holding it to the white plastered walls. It looked incredibly out of place. The right door had a golden 1 engraved into it. Dean frowned and reached out a hand, gripping hold of the handle.

Something grabbed his right arm and tore it away, slamming Dean's entire body against the wall. All the air was crushed out of his lungs as Dean struggled to look at his attacker. It was the angel from before. His look was stern, his piercing blue eyes met his with a warning glare. "C-Castiel?" Dean stuttered, trying to regain his breath. A large hand clamped firmly over his mouth, forcing his head against the wall. Panic was rising in Dean's chest. This angel had seemed so calm, so well balanced, so… human. Now he had him pinned to a wall by his throat.

Blackness. Dean thought he'd fainted. Or was he dead? No… no, he was still alive. And very conscious. The angel still had a hand on his shoulder, it had shifted from his neck and his mouth was free. Dean could just about make out his silhouette. "Cas, what the hell?!" – "You mustn't go in there, Dean" the gruff voice replied. "You do not have permission, I do not have permission." Dean pulled away from Castiel's grip. "Why, what's in there?" even in the dark he could make out that the angel was shaking his head. "I don't know. They don't tell me much." Dean frowned, his eyes were adjusting to the darkness, he could make out most of Cas' features now. "And you don't question it?" – "I don't question orders, Dean. It would… bare great consequences. I cannot risk that." He raised his eyebrows. The angel was dressed in the same suit and trench coat as before, he wondered if they ever changed. "So er… where are we?" Castiel didn't answer his question, he turned and walked towards what Dean made out as a desk and leaned against it, rubbing his forehead with his left hand. "Hey, you okay over there?" Cas nodded. "Just the err… the close proximity to the room. It's given me a headache." – "Well I'm fine." Cas looked up, squinting. "You are? No headache, no sickness of any kind?" Dean shook his head. "No, not that I can tell." He could barely hear the quiet "strange" Cas gave from himself, but he guessed it hadn't been meant for him rather than for Castiel himself.

"So what's the deal? Why am I here? And why do I keep bumping into you?" The angel cocked his head to one side. "They told me you were clever." - "Well uh…" – "They must have mistaken you for your brother." He remarked. "Hey, you callin me stupid?" Castiel shook his head. "No, I just assumed you'd worked it out by now." Dean paused. Cheeky beggar. "Well, I haven't, so would you please just tell me what the hell is going on here?"

Castiel looked at him. It sent a shiver down Dean's spine, it was like he could see right into him, through his eyes and into his soul, as if he was reading every inch of his body, researching every inch of his memory, going through the very essence of his humanity and everything that made him Dean Winchester. It wasn't a look. It was an examination.

"You're in heaven." Dean nodded "Yeah I gathered." He said and added a sarcastic "thanks." – "you're welcome." He frowned "no, I didn't mean…" Castiel's expression changed into confusion. "Never mind." He just looked even more confused. "Why am I here?" The angel's features didn't change as he replied dryly "You're dead."

It hit him like a train. Dead. A thousand thoughts rushed through Dean's head, a million. He experienced every emotion humanly conceivable and many more. But the predominant thought was: "what about Sammy?" What would he do, all alone? He was too unstable, too insecure to manage without his older brother. It was Dean's job to look after him. Always. Now he couldn't.

"How- how am I here? I thought heaven was…" Cas didn't end his sentence for him, he didn't interrupt, he didn't talk over the awkward pause as Dean searched for the right word. He waited. He waited for Dean to finish what he was saying. "Pleasant." – "It is for the dead. They find their heaven, they live in it." Dean stared at the angel. "I AM dead." He choked. "You were dead. They brought you back." – "Who did?" – "The archangels. The ones who are left, anyway. Raguel and Remiel that is. The rest are dead." Dean was so busy drowning in his own emotions that he failed to catch the bitterness in Castiel's voice as he talked about his fallen brothers. Truth was, he hated the fighting. "Why would they bring me back, Cas? It doesn't make any sense." He frowned "They brought you back before, didn't they?" – "Yeah so I could stop Lucifer. But now…" Castiel didn't talk. It was like he couldn't talk unless you told him precisely what to talk about. Angels… "Why bring me back now?" Cas sighed "Because we need more like you. We can't fight this war with the angels we have. Our good soldiers fell centuries ago. Well, heaven centuries. Earth time, a couple of months. All we have left is children, a generation of impurity that has no interest in sustaining equality in heaven." Dean shook his head. "Impurity" he spat out the word like it was filth "If impure angels won't do, why pull in broken humans?!" the annoyance and anger in his voice was clear. He hated angels almost more than he hated Crowley. At least Crowley was no double-crosser, at least he had motives and at least you could reason with him. More or less, anyway. But angels, they did what they wanted and once they'd found a cause, nothing could stop them. And they called humans monkeys?

"I know it's hard for you to understand, Dean. Do you know how an angel is created?" Dean shook his head. "I don't care how you're created, I don't care where you winged asses come from, all I care about, is how to rid the world of your filth!" Castile didn't react. He was not angry or insulted. He did not yell at Dean, he did not try to explain himself to him. He just remained silent. "Just go." Dean finally snapped. "I am sorry for the actions of my brothers, Dean, but we are not all the same." A flutter of wings. A gust of wind. And Dean was alone once more. "Yeah, I bet." He murmured before falling to the floor and burying his face in his hands as a single tear rolled down his cheek. Oh Sammy.


End file.
